confessions and numbers
by ectodreaming
Summary: When Antonio sent his love confession to a wrong number and Emma thought she was the world's best matchmaker.


**idk if theyre in character tbh but what the hell; 5754w**

* * *

"Sent!" sang Antonio. He hugged his phone to his chest and began rolling around on his bed. "I did it_! __Lo hice!_" The confession took him twenty minutes to write, and all he really hoped for was a quick response. (An '_I like you too Antonio_' would be great!)

His phone buzzed a moment later. His heart stuttered.

_You got the wrong fucking number._

"Eh?" exclaimed Antonio. He looked at the number on the crumpled piece of paper, and checked the number on his phone. It was Emma's number . . . but who-?

_But u r Emma, no? _texted Antonio.

_No_, came the reply from the anonymous person.

_But Emma gave me her #_, Antonio argued, eyebrows furrowing.

_I'm not Emma. Fuck off_, replied the stranger.

_Who r u?_

Antonio didn't receive a response after that. (Perhaps his contact was blocked?)

.

.

"That _is_ my number," insisted Emma the next day, green eyes glancing up at Antonio. She smiled amiably, and handed the phone back to the Spaniard. "Well, I should go now. My friend's waiting," she glanced over her shoulder to look at an attractive man waiting outside their class.

The dark haired man was leaning by the doorway, checking his watch for the time. His thick red scarf was tucked around his neck, inside his coat, nearly covering half of his face yet somehow managing to highlight his features. "Hurry up, Emma."

"I'm coming- _geez_, Lovino," remarked Emma. She grinned at Antonio, an odd sparkle present in her eyes. "Well, I'll see you around, Antonio." Emma threw her green scarf around her neck and headed towards the other boy.

"Yeah, later," Antonio rubbed the back of his head, glancing between Emma and Lovino. _Were they . . . together? _He wondered while watching Emma leave the class with the other student.

"Someone sent me a love confession via text message last night," Lovino started, hands pushed into the pockets of coat. He gave her a shrewd side-glance, "well, it was for you."

"Oh, really?" Emma distracted herself by fixing her scarf.

"You better stop giving people _my __number_," scowled Lovino as they exited the university. The ground was slippery with snow and ice, biting wind cutting at their faces while they made their way towards the main street.

"Aw, is that why you offered to pick me up after class?" Emma exhaled, glancing at Lovino.

"It's fucking annoying," he remarked. They crossed the street in silence. The London weather was dreary and cold today- a normal climate during the winter, in Lovino's opinion- and it only added to his foul mood. "What do you _want_ me to do with them? Entertain them? Because _no_."

"I don't know," she replied lightly, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. "Anyway, that guy I was talking to earlier-"

"No," Lovino frowned.

"You'll like him a lot, I bet," Emma said, looking through the windows of the little shops they passed. "He's funny, and cool, and handsome, and-"

"Why don't you date him then?" Lovino cut, running his cold fingers through his hair. "I have no time for _distractions_. I've got some pieces to finish."

"Okay, okay," Emma pushed her own hands inside her coat, "I'll stop with the matchmaking."

.

.

Lovino grunted, unintentionally breaking the tip of his pencil. "Fuck," he muttered. His sketch now acquired rough edges. Now he needed to get up and find his damned eraser somewhere (_ugh, why can't they just appear in my hand when I need them_, he whined in his head). He growled in frustration and leaned on the side of his bed, knees pressed up to his chest as he checked his phone.

His eyebrow twitched.

_I am NOT Emma. can you fucking understand that_, he sent the annoying man.

_Then who r u?_

_You tell me who the fuck you are first_, Lovino sent. He placed his sketchbook to his side, fingers pulling at his hair. He couldn't find his muse; he couldn't seem to _draw_. He felt stuck, suffocated almost, because he wanted to draw- but he _couldn't_.

_Im Antonio Carriedo_.

_That's fucking great_, thought Lovino. If his memory served him right, then this man was the Spaniard from their university famous for being a little _too _carefree. _Lovino._

_Oh_, Antonio replied a second later. _Ur that guy with Emma earlier?_

_Yeah so?_ Lovino glanced around his room to spot his sharpener. He saw it near his set of sketching pencils on the floor, and lazily crawled towards it, phone in one hand and pencil in the other. He collapsed on the floor, forehead pressed on his cold wooden floorboards while he stretched out his limbs.

His phone buzzed.

_R u guys dating?_

_Are you dumb?_ Lovino typed in irritation, glaring at his phone, _She's just a friend. can you leave me the fuck alone now?_

He grabbed his sharpener and shoved his pencil in it. His phone vibrated again. Oh, and would you look at that- his eraser was hiding underneath his pencils.

_Sure on one condition_, said Antonio.

Lovino scowled. He figured that he would ask for Emma's number. _Whatever_.

_Lets be friends_, the text read.

"What the-" _This defeats the purpose of you leaving me alone_, Lovino hit the send button.

_I know :-) _

_Fuck off you jerk bastard_, Lovino sent. If only he knew how to block a contact number, then he would've gladly blocked a couple of imbeciles from his phone.

.

.

"Lovino!"

The Italian student halted and turned. He saw a familiar-looking dark-haired student walking towards him. "What the fuck do you want?" He tightened his grip on the straps of his backpack, scowl appearing on his face.

"Eh? Aren't we friends?" Antonio tilted his head curiously, smile never disappearing from his face. "Oh come on, you said _whatever_ last night, and that is a _si_ in my book!"

"We're not friends," Lovino swirled around and began speed-walking, arms moving stiffly by his side as he attempted to shake off Antonio from his tail. He turned a corner, narrowly missing the blonde potato bastard his brother was dating. "Not sorry!" he yelled to the Ger(k)man bastard, breaking into a run. He heard a loud _thud_.

"Oh shit- I'm sorry, _mi amigo_!"

"Serves you right, you bastards!" Lovino called, turning another corner and another before pressing himself against the wall. He bent down, hands on his knees, while he caught his breath.

"Big brother! What are you-"

_For the love of go_-

Lovino grabbed Veneziano's arm and pulled him to his side, looking around. He covered his brother's mouth and leaned close to whisper, "Do you know Antonio Carriedo?" When his little brother nodded his head worriedly, he continued. "If you see him, do _not_- under any fucking circumstance- _do not_ tell him where I am. Okay?"

Veneziano pulled his hand down, eyebrows furrowing. "Why? What's happening?"

"Lovino!" Antonio called from the end of the hallway.

"Big brother," softly cried Veneziano, suddenly remembering something, "I have to go to class-"

"Alright, alright." Lovino pushed his brother out of his hiding spot (which was simply in a smaller hallway of the university, behind a not-so-big trash can), pressing a finger to his lips. Veneziano nodded his head and waved at his brother, unaware that Antonio was coming his way.

"Lovi- oh! It's Veneziano," Antonio greeted, hands going inside his pockets. He looked around; who did Veneziano wave to? "I thought you were Lovino! You know," he paused to stare at Veneziano, green eyes watching the Italian boy in amazement, "Lovino looks a lot like you. Do you know him?"

"Oh, he's my big brother," Veneziano chirped happily. He adjusted his bag on his shoulder, checking to see if he didn't drop any pencils or erasers. "Anyway, I have to go to class now. I'll see you around, Antonio!"

"Wait, wait," Antonio grabbed his arm as Veneziano was walking by. He let go when Veneziano looked like he was about to cry. "Do you know where Lovino is?"

"No I don't! Sorry, Antonio!" With that, Veneziano ran, arms moving on his sides while he sped through the hallways.

"Well, that was weird," Antonio commented to himself, resuming to walk down the hallway.

"There you are Lovino! I've been looking all over for-"

"Damn it, Emma," Antonio heard from the hallway he passed. He backtracked, eyes locking onto his target.

"Lovino!" called Antonio, running after the fast Italian (_why were these Italians so fast?_ he wondered). Thank god he didn't have any (important) classes for the rest of the day, or else he would've been screwed. "Wait, Lovino!"

"What do you _want_?" Lovino finally whirled around to face Antonio when he realized that he wasn't going anywhere with his _run-away-as-fast-as-you-can_ plan. He looked at him- actually _looked_ at him- for the first time, and noticed the brilliant green of his eyes, the nice curve of his lips, the tall bridge of his nose, the shine in his dark hair-

He glared at the jerk bastard.

"We're _amigos_, no?" Antonio stepped forward, breaths still uneven after his chase with Lovino.

"No, we're not," Lovino replied, shaking his head. His fingers suddenly itched to draw- to _sketch_- to use colors. _Green_, he thought absently, _lots of green_.

"I'll treat you to some coffee, eh?" Antonio pulled a folded coupon from his pocket. "Get one, fifty percent off!" he said happily. He waved the coupon in front of him, hoping to reel the Italian in.

"No."

Antonio unexpectedly latched onto Lovino's arm, hooking his arm with Lovino's and dragging his friend out of the university. "Okay, I have other coupons anyway."

"Do you just not understand _no_? No is _no_ in Spanish and in English," growled Lovino, attempting to pull his arm free from the forceful Spaniard. "Help!" he yelled, making Antonio flinch and cause his smile to waver, "I'm getting kidnapped!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Lovi- hey, is it alright if I call you Lovi?"

"_No_," seethed Lovino, cheeks turning red. He had never received a nickname from anyone- not from Veneziano, and certainly not from _Nonno_. Suddenly getting a nickname from a Spaniard he _didn't know_ was rather . . . baffling.

"Isn't it cute?" Antonio wondered aloud. He glanced down at Lovino, who was actually a little shorter than him, and smiled wider. _He looks like a tomato_, Antonio thought fondly.

"No."

"Do you like tomatoes?"

"N- tomatoes?" Lovino glanced up at him, and then looked away as they crossed the street. "A little," he muttered.

"What was that?" Antonio leaned closer, cheek almost pressed against his.

"What the fuck are you doing, you jerk bastard," yelled Lovino, distancing his face away from Antonio's. They earned a few glances; Antonio let go and covered his ears, laughing loudly. Lovino's face turned into a tomato once again. "I said that I like them _a little_."

"Great! I love tomatoes! I have a coupon for this pasta place where they use _a lot_ of tomatoes in their dishes," Antonio grabbed his wrist and proceeded to pull him through the fairly thin crowd, down the street and a couple of turns, into a narrower sidewalk, where non-frequented shops were located. The sidewalk was a little rough as well, showing the lack of renovating and attention from the public.

They entered a tiny restaurant called _el tomate_, Spanish for tomato- Lovino assumed. It was warm and cozy inside, perhaps due to its size, and there were fresh smells of vegetables and other foods within the walls of the restaurant. Five or six small circular wooden tables were casually scattered along the floorboards of the place- with two or three matching chairs surrounding each table, while the walls were painted a dark dirty yellow that resembled the lazy afternoon rays of the sun. There were a couple of pictures hanging on the walls, which- if one took the time to observe- were actually the history and accomplishments of the restaurant. A counter (also wooden) was set up just in front of the kitchen, and Lovino managed to hide his grumbling stomach. He only had a sandwich this morning- and, if Antonio hadn't dragged him off to _el tomate_, he doubted that he would've eaten anything else.

"Antonio!" greeted an older man with grey hair. He was wearing an apron while he moved around the counter. The other customers, who were few in numbers, murmured their greetings at the Spaniard. "Haven't seen you in a while!"

"Mr. Harris," Antonio grinned, pulling Lovino along, "good, ah," he paused and checked the clock on the wall across from him, "afternoon."

"So," Mr. Harris, an Englishman, started while he shifted his friendly gaze from Antonio to Lovino and back again, "new friend?"

"His name is Lovino- Vargas, _si_," Antonio nodded to himself, remembering Veneziano's surname. "He likes tomatoes too."

"Nice to meet you," Lovino stretched out a hand, and Mr. Harris shook it firmly.

"It's always a pleasure to meet friends of Antonio," Mr. Harris chuckled. He gestured for them to take a seat. Antonio pulled him towards a seat near the counter, rewarding Lovino with the appetizing scent of _delicious goodness_.

"The usual, Antonio?" asked Mr. Harris.

"Yes," Antonio sang, placing his elbows on the tables and watching Lovino look through the menu. He didn't look like a tomato anymore . . .

"You want me to come back for you, Lovino?"

"Uh, yes- thank you," Lovino blinked, eyes glancing up curiously at Mr. Harris, then at Antonio. Once Mr. Harris retreated back to the counter, Lovino leaned forward and signaled for Antonio to do the same. "He's English." It was a statement rather than a question, and Antonio watched him with a mix of confusion and amusement.

"_Si_," he responded slowly. "What's wrong, Lovi?"

"His food is- _good_?" Lovino asked, glaring at him for using _Lovi_.

Antonio brushed off the stink eye that was aimed at him. He nodded, "His wife is Spanish. And he studied culinary in Spain."

Lovino found it weird that someone would rather study culinary in Spain when _France_ was the go-to place for the culinary students; but then again, he didn't really enjoy French food as much as he did Italian- so it was definitely part of the person's taste. "Oh."

"Ready?" Mr. Harris came back not a moment later, and Antonio leaned back with his arms folded over his chest. The Spaniard watched Lovino again while the Italian ordered his food. "Great choice," Mr. Harris commented, smiling brightly at the younger man. "You must like tomatoes a lot, huh?"

"Just a little," Lovino repeated, sending him a tiny smile.

Once Mr. Harris was back behind the counter, yelling out the orders, Antonio beamed at Lovino.

"What?" scowled his friend.

"You should smile more," Antonio replied. He scratched his cheek thoughtfully. "You're, what's the word . . . ah, handsome_r_ like that."

Lovino crossed his arms and _hmph_ed, looking away again with a softer scowl on his face. He turned back to look at the Spaniard sitting across from him. Antonio was picking at his coat, just watching him, and Lovino's eyebrow twitched.

"What do you want from me? Emma's number?" Lovino asked. "I can give you her number-"

"No, no," Antonio shook his head, dropping his hands on the table as he grinned at Lovino, "I just want to be your friend."

"You're crazy," remarked Lovino, eyes widening slightly while Antonio tipped his head in acknowledgement.

"I know," his voice, despite being sincere, was laced with pride- as if he was proud to be labeled crazy. "I'm very _loco_, Lovi."

"As soon as I tell those bastards that I'm not Emma- that I'm _Lovino_, they stop all contact immediately," Lovino explained. "With me _and_ Emma. They always think we're going out."

"It's hard _not_ to, really," agreed Antonio. Lovino wanted to punch him in the face. Why in the world would people assume that he and Emma were going out? Did they put up such a front?

"Well, I'll never date her, and she'll never date me," Lovino bit out, eyebrows dipping down. "She's annoying."

Antonio laughed again; it was a light and slightly contagious laugh- something that would cause the people around him to wonder what amused him- but Lovino wasn't one to laugh easily. Instead, he tapped his fingers on the table, eyes glancing at the clock here and there.

"You're weird," Lovino muttered, briefly looking up to catch his expression. Antonio only smiled, as if to say _I know_.

That cold day, Lovino managed to create two art pieces that focused on the color _green_. He later realized that it was approximately the same shade as Antonio's eyes.

.

.

"Here," Antonio tossed him a ripe tomato. Lovino carefully caught it in his hands, pressing his nose on the smooth red skin.

"How do you know when they're ripe?" wondered Lovino, following Antonio in the market with a basket in hand.

"Well, if you're as good as me, you'll just _know_," Antonio replied. He glanced behind him when Lovino started cursing him; he grinned.

"-you jerk bastard," finished Lovino, crossing his arms.

June had finally rolled around, and to Lovino's surprise, his friendship with Antonio grew. Despite stemming from a misunderstanding, their friendship was surprisingly natural and untroubled. Lovino had honestly expected that he'd get tired of Antonio's stupid face and stupid voice (and stupid everything) after meeting up with him a few times- but, amazingly, he didn't.

For Antonio, there was something about Lovino that he wanted to _protect_ and keep to himself. It was that _something_ that truly hooked him to the Italian student; he didn't know what it was nor did he truly understand why he was feeling that way, but it was a pretty and big feeling.

"What's the celebration for?" asked Lovino, placing the tomato inside the basket. Antonio told him that he would cook pasta tonight for dinner. "Summer break?"

"Well, that and," Antonio paused while he examined a set of basil leaves, "we've been friends for half a year now; thought it might be something to celebrate."

Lovino stared at him in surprise. "You make us sound like a couple," he mentioned nonchalantly, though he acquired odd emotions about the idea. _Antonio and _me_? A couple?_ He laughed at his own thoughts, shaking them away.

"Hm," Antonio sent him a lighthearted glance, "I do, don't I?"

"Creep," muttered Lovino, roughly pushing Antonio to move along the market. The market, which only opened in the summer season, was located near the streets by _el tomate_. It was, again, not frequented by a mass of people- however, there was enough of the public to keep the market sustained. The market sold organic fruits and vegetables, all grown from the owner's local farm, which was about three or four hours away from the city.

In Antonio's words, these were "very healthy for the _cuerpo_."

A few hours later, Lovino found himself in Antonio's small apartment, where his dining room was basically his kitchen, and his living room was also his entertainment room. He plopped down on the couch, folding his arms behind his head while he stretched his legs out on the sofa.

He shut his eyes, allowing himself to drift off while he listened to Antonio cook his pasta. The lovely scents hit his nose; Lovino shifted on the couch, and fell, hitting his face on the unwelcoming floor. Footsteps immediately tapped on the ground as Lovino pushed himself up, rubbing his nose with his hand.

Antonio sighed and crouched beside him, a small hand towel lying on his right shoulder while he peered at Lovino. "Geez, Lovi. What happened?"

"I fucking fell," Lovino glared at him with a scowl, "that's what happened."

The Spaniard reached over to pet his hair, fingers accidentally making contact with the long strand of curly hair that always caused some type of reaction from Lovino. The younger man stiffened under his touch, and soon enough-

"Ow, _Lovi_!" cried Antonio, rubbing his jaw as he turned away from the fuming Italian. "It was an accident!"

"That was an accident, too," Lovino remarked hotly, referring to the head-butt he gave Antonio. He climbed back on the couch and hugged a pillow to his chest. "Are you almost done? I'm hungry."

"Almost," Antonio picked himself up from the floor and headed back into the kitchen. "You want to try the sauce? It's a new recipe I used. Mr. Harris gave me new tips!"

"Sure," replied Lovino, entering the kitchen in a lethargic manner. He stood beside Antonio, arms crossed as he watched the steam come up.

"Say _ahh_," sang Antonio, lifting up the ladle.

"Are you trying to burn me?" Lovino glared, dropping his arms to his sides and peering down at the steaming ladle.

Antonio chuckled, "Alright, alright. I'll blow it for you, Lovi." He brought the ladle to his lips and blew it a few times before offering it to Lovino again.

He bent down and briefly took a taste, snapping his head back. "That burns, damn it!" But it _did_ taste better than usual.

"Do you like it?" asked Antonio, bringing the ladle back inside the pot. He stirred the sauce, turning the stove off.

Lovino stepped out of the way when Antonio brought the pot containing the pasta to the sink, pouring the water out. He leaned his hip on the counter, watching his friend move around the tiny kitchen. "I guess," he answered.

Antonio smiled to himself, spirits instantly lifting up because _Lovino liked his new recipe_, and put the pasta in a big clear bowl. "You should be more honest, Lovino," he commented while he poured the tomato sauce in another bowl.

"Whatever," muttered Lovino.

He stayed the night at Antonio's place after stuffing himself with pasta. (Lovino couldn't bring himself to move from the floor.)

.

.

"Antonio _did_ that?" Emma asked a few days later when she bumped into Lovino at an ice-cream stand outside the shopping centre.

Lovino took a bite out of his popsicle, strolling beside Emma while they wandered around. "It's weird," he said.

"Well, he _is_ weird," Emma mused aloud. She glanced at her friend, a watchful look on her face. "Though that's the first time I've heard about Antonio celebrating a _friend-nniversary_ with someone. He doesn't even do that with _Francis_- and Francis is one of his childhood friends."

Somehow, knowing that Francis and Antonio knew each other longer made Lovino scowl. Emma caught on, which only confirmed her suspicions.

"Antonio didn't contact me after he met you, you know," Emma informed him, nibbling at her cone. "I think he likes you."

Her words made his heart flutter, and Lovino hid his emotions under a deeper scowl. "No he doesn't."

"And you like him back," added Emma. She took a bite from her wafer cone, continuing to walk around though Lovino suddenly lagged behind. He threw his half-eaten popsicle in a trash can, unable to talk because _what, Antonio likes him?_

"Hey, look, it's Antonio-"

Instantaneously, Lovino walked the opposite direction with red cheeks; Emma laughed loudly and grabbed the back of Lovino's shirt, dragging him back.

"I'm joking," Emma told him, amused by his red cheeks.

"You're a little fucker, aren't you," Lovino glared at her. His behavior towards women wasn't typically like this; however, Emma was simply pushing his buttons a little too far in.

"Antonio and Lovino, kissing on a tree, K-I-"

Lovino covered her mouth when he spotted Francis and Antonio coming out of a shop that they were about to pass. His scowl was in his place when Antonio turned his astonished gaze on him. He glanced between Emma and Lovino, wide grin disappearing into a tinier smile- almost invisible.

Emma pulled Lovino's hand down, green eyes smiling at Francis and Antonio. "It's fancy seeing you two here," she greeted them. "We were just talking about you, Antonio."

"We were _not_," Lovino crossed his arms. Francis smiled at him, sauntering towards Lovino and slinging an arm around the shorter man.

"My, my, my," Francis hummed, eyes roaming along the contours of the older Vargas-brother. "This is one of the few times I get to see you up close, _mon chérie_."

"Get off me, you perverted bastard," Lovino elbowed the French man in hopes of pushing him away, but the latter held on.

"Oh my," Francis continued, looking intently at the strange curl on Lovino's head. "You and your brother are similar, aren't you?" He reached over, twirling the lock around his finger; he felt Lovino heat up, saw his red face, and next thing he knew, he was on the ground.

"D-don't touch me like that!" yelled Lovino, kicking his shin for good measure before leaving the scene. A thin circle of people gathered around them, wondering what the commotion was. Lovino lowered his head, hiding his face from the faceless crowd, and headed out of the shopping centre. He didn't know where he was initially headed before he saw Emma, so now he simply let his feet lead him wherever.

"Lovi," called Antonio, though the younger man was already gone. He sighed, placing his hands on his hips while he watched Francis get up from the ground. "Didn't I tell you that he has a _really_ hard head?"

Francis rubbed his jaw, thanking Emma as she handed him the bags he dropped. "Damn it, that kid-"

"He likes Antonio," Emma mentioned, looking unhappily at her melted ice cream. She should've eaten it faster. "Well, I'll see you arou-"

"Wait, Emma," Antonio grabbed her wrist, halting her in her tracks. The people finally dispersed and merged back into the crowd, clearly not interested anymore. The trio ignored them; they weren't ones to care anyway. "Lovino- he- _me_?"

"He told me earlier," Emma lifted her shoulders in a shrug. "You should tell him to be more honest," she added, "See you guys after break!"

Antonio watched, lips parted, while he tried to process what Emma told him. _Lovino_- _Lovi-_

"-tonio," Francis slapped his ass, finally catching his attention. The French student crossed his arms, bags hanging from his fingers. He stared at Antonio. "Don't be stupid."

"But-"

"_Friend-nniversary_? Really?" Francis exhaled. "You are obviously in love, Tony."

"Huh? With who?"

Francis smiled sweetly, gently knocking his fist against Antonio's temple. "With _Lovino_," he stated. "Now get out of my face before I hit you."

"I thought you needed my help to carry your bags?"

"For the love of my motherland," Francis sighed exasperatedly, furrowing his eyebrows, "I'm telling you to go after Lovino."

"B- wh-"

"Just fucking _go_," Francis pressed his fist on the back of Antonio's shoulder. "If you don't go now, I'll eat him up like the lovely Italian tomato that he is," he added, which actually propelled Antonio to run after Lovino.

The blonde man sighed again, fingers reaching up to rub his temples. Was Antonio dense or just playing dumb? Sometimes, he couldn't tell anymore. He began walking the opposite direction, thoughts filled with wonder and curiosity-

"Psst, Francis!"

He looked over his shoulder and saw Emma slip out of a ribbon shop. "What happened to '_see you after break_'?" Francis asked her, slowing his pace to allow her to catch up.

"Do you wanna play matchmakers with me next time?" asked Emma.

Francis shifted his gaze ahead of them. "That would be fun," he mused, "though it depends who the subjects are."

"Next on my list is Arthur and Alfred," Emma informed him.

He smiled mischievously, and Francis lifted a shoulder in a shrug, "I'm in."

.

.

_Emma told me that u like me_, Antonio typed- though he deleted the letters after reading them over. He was back inside his apartment, after two hours of running around the streets under the hot sun, looking vainly for Lovino. He tried again, _So what happened after u left the shopping cntr?_

That was more casual, yes.

But Lovino didn't reply.

_I told Francis that he shouldnt have touched that piece of hair_, sent Antonio. He learned many months ago that in order to get a response from Lovino, he had to blow up his phone. (Though Lovino avoided him for three days afterwards, claiming that he was "sick of your jerk bastard ways.")

_Im making ur fave dish_, Antonio sent him, assuming that Lovino probably didn't eat anything again. _u can come over anytime u know_

_Stupid jerk bastard. I'm coming over_, Lovino immediately replied.

And he also learned that if blowing up his phone wasn't an option, he would bribe Lovino using his cooking skills.

_Ok_ _B-)_

(It worked, as usual.)

Antonio got up from his couch and headed into his kitchen, pulling out the ingredients to make Lovino's favorite pasta dish. He gathered them in his arms and placed them on his counter. He pulled out his cooking pots and put some water in one pot and oil in the other.

_"He likes Antonio_."

The tomato slipped from his fingers, but he clumsily caught it with his other hand. He turned on the stove after placing the pots on top, and then he grabbed a knife to cut up the tomatoes.

A knock distracted him from his thoughts, and Antonio placed the knife aside while he headed to his front door. He wiped his hands on his shirt and opened the door; Lovino pushed him aside, going straight to the couch with an impatient expression.

"You have to wait twenty minutes," Antonio told him, going back to his kitchen. He was relieved. To see Lovino after an unsuccessful chase was a great respite to his mind. He proceeded to cut up the tomatoes, more steadily now that his thoughts weren't as loud. "Where'd you go afterwards, Lovi?"

"Nowhere," was Lovino's faint reply. He was clearly disinterested in conversation, but Antonio pushed on. He wanted to know if- if what Emma said was true.

"Really? I looked everywhere for you," Antonio said, grating some garlic and placing them inside the pot which contained the pasta sauce.

Lovino grunted, shifting on the couch with his arm pressed over his eyes. He wanted to sleep; after all, getting lost for a two or three hours in a part of town he was unfamiliar with was _exhausting_. He felt rather nice though- knowing that Antonio tried to look for him.

The next fifteen minutes were spent in silence: Antonio making their five o'clock dinner and Lovino taking a nap on the couch.

"Time to eat, Lovi," announced Antonio, carrying their meal to the living room. The pots were sitting inside the sink, waiting to be cleaned. When he noticed that Lovino was sleeping, Antonio decided on down on the floor, next to the couch. He placed his elbows on his knees, hands cupping his face while he watched Lovino sleep.

He was always sleeping when he cooked his favorite dish, Antonio noticed, eyes observing Lovino's long eyelashes. His gaze lowered, and lowered, until he found himself looking at the curve of his mouth.

Antonio reached out, thumb pressing against the corner of his mouth, and slowly moved to rub his lower lip. When Lovino grumbled, Antonio was unaware of the fond smile that appeared on his face. He ran the back of his fingers against his friend's cheek, moving through his silky dark hair, accidentally-

"C-chigi," gasped Lovino, snapping his eyes open. He looked at Antonio, face turning red along with his neck and ears; Lovino suddenly propped himself up on his elbow and glanced at Antonio's lips.

_Tomato_, Antonio's brain registered.

"Lovi- I-"

Lovino firmly grabbed his face and pressed his lips against his. Antonio's mouth was hot and soft, dry and salty- Lovino gulped, and Antonio pressed his lips harder against his, climbing onto the couch and trapping Lovino underneath him. The searing kiss sent shivers down Lovino's spine, caused goosebumps to appear on Antonio's skin, made Lovino's toes curl.

The Spaniard tangled his fingers in Lovino's hair, thumb tenderly rubbing the root of that strange curl on his head. Lovino turned his head, eyes shut tightly while Antonio pressed kisses on his the side of his jaw. Lovino's skin was hot, smooth- and he smelled like the sun-

"C-_chigi_-!" Lovino butted his head against Antonio, pushing the Spaniard off of him while he jumped up from the couch, hurriedly rushing out of the tiny apartment.

Antonio rubbed his head, fingers feeling a sore bump on his forehead. Dear _god_, was he bleeding? His vision blacked out momentarily and-

His door was already slammed shut by the time he was able to regain normal vision.

_Lovi pls answer_, Antonio sent not thirty minutes later, after he reflected about his feelings and concluded that _yes, he was in love with Lovino_. He hadn't cleaned up yet; in fact, when Lovino left, he only sat on his couch in a daze, thoughts and emotions running wildly.

_I didnt know i was in love with u until earlier when Francis and Emma were hanging around u_, typed Antonio, _I think i love u_

He sent the text. And then he added, _I will be very sad if u don't talk to me anymore :-( _

_I get a shitty confession but Emma gets a two paragraph confession? You dumb jerk bastard_, Lovino replied eleven minutes and forty-two seconds later.

_Ur not mad at me?_ asked Antonio. He bit his lip to keep his hopes from getting too high. He straightened his back, waiting attentively for Lovino's reply.

_No_, sent Lovino.

Antonio scratched his head, wondering how to go about his next concern. It appeared like Lovino wouldn't step into any matter that dealt with his feelings without Antonio's pushing. _emma said that u like me.._

He didn't receive a reply for nearly fifteen minutes, and Antonio was about to lose his faith (and perhaps crawl into his room without cleaning), when his phone lit up and buzzed with Lovino's message.

_Yeah so?_

Antonio couldn't explain how happy he was; he jumped up from his couch and pumped his fists in the air. "_Woohoo_!" he yelled, jumping around his apartment with a grin that seemed like it could split his face in half. "Lovino likes me!" He collapsed back on the couch, running his fingers through his messy hair, heart beating excitedly.

_R u gonna eat the pasta i made? :-D_

_Of course i am damn it_.

_Te amo Lovi :-D_

_Stop with the dumb faces, idiot._

Lovino ended up staying the night at Antonio's with his sketchbook and pencils. (They were the only things he needed to be happy.)


End file.
